NATIVE HARROW
Divided Kind (Different Time Records)
AH, YES I SEE. Country/soul and moody rootsiness, groove-based rhythms and church-based ballads, laidback pop with a Pacific view and the faint shimmer of something psychedelic, a Hammond B3 organ with hints of seduction and drums that feel already introduced, guitars that stretch out like long nights without end and a voice that’s faced a few mornings with equanimity rather than being ravaged.
Devin Tuel and Stephen Harms of Native Harrow, an American duo with European sensibilities, know this territory: this is their sixth album in ten years, made under their own steam/control, and sharing the songwriting and bulk of sounds (he’s an all-hands-on-everything type; she’s taking the vocal load as well as guitar).
Hell, we know this territory: if you’ve taken rides with Shelby Lynne and Jackie DeShannon, Tift Merritt and David Ackles, Courtney Marie Andrews and Stars, Danny And The Champions Of The World and Bonnie & Delaney, this ain’t going to be your first rodeo.
So the issue here isn’t trawling for surprises, though there are a few, but value-adding. In other words, can Native Harrow bring an extra layer of quality to elevate familiar fare, elements of themselves to personalise? Short answer: yes.
The almost pastoral tenor of I Wanna Thank You takes this soulful ballad outdoors, away from last drinks and searching for an answer, closer to lying on the bonnet of your car, staring up at the sky, hands just touching. Unlike the slowly rising heat of Follow Me Round that earns an adult rating, it feels languid but still physical, intimate but not imposing.
That’s Love on the other hand closes you inside, little more than a low machine hum, acoustic guitar and rainy atmosphere to put an astral folk hue around Tuel’s voice, already carrying a weight of knowledge.
The mix of California and Memphis in the title track (pool hall piano and organ alternating for our attention) and Goin Nowhere (tambourine, handclaps and congas making for a quietly insistent pulse) bring a low temperature sultriness that resists the urge to force the issue, in keeping with the way Tuel eases past. But when she brings a ribbon of frustration and need to Not The Woman, Harms’ slide guitar predicts urgency, and the bluesy edge to the solo more than hints at frustration about to be discarded.
If the album’s closing song, The Garden, arrives as understated as a postcard farewell, all air and breath and never even thinking about accelerating or emphasising, the slow drift keeps you in its grip. What initially suggests a reverie that isn’t going anywhere, ends some distance away and you are not quite the same.
Which is no bad way to end a familiar journey.
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